heyyyyy,welcome to my blog. i write sometimes. my work is written with black fem reader in mind but anyone can read.sit back,relax and I hope you enjoy 💋
another reason why i don’t understand why the black community defends this woman because wtf?? genuinely he did not deserve the sh he went thru and the fact that this woman would say that is beyond me bro 🤦🏽♀️ hope this reaches the right people
“Off the wall was released in August 1979, the same month I turned twenty-one and took control of my own affairs, and it was definitely one of the major landmarks of my life. It meant a great deal to me, because its eventual success proved beyond shadow of a doubt that a former child star could mature into a recording artist with contemporary appeal. Off the Wall also went a step beyond the dance grooves we had cooked up. When we started the project, Quincy and I talked about how important it was to capture passion and strong feelings in a recorded performance.” -Michael Jackson
Hii can you please do a Jaafar fluff where both him and reader are married, and reader is expecting? You can do it however you want but I think a baby shower would be cute! ❤️
three's a crowd
a jaafar jackson fic
summary - requested!
includes - husband jaafar // wife reader // pregnant reader // parents to be // established relationship // tons of belly touches
a/n - OUUU I love!! I'm sorry that I've been away for so long my babies, fall semester is coming up real soon.
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“You’re not supposed to be in here.”
Jaafar stopped in the doorway.
He had one hand behind his back and an expression on his face that told you he already knew he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.
“I’m not in here.”
“You are literally standing in the room.”
“I’m standing in the doorway.”
You stared at him from your place in front of the vanity.
Jaafar stared back.
Neither of you moved.
Finally, your eyes narrowed.
“What’s behind your back?”
“Nothing.”
“Jaafar.”
He smiled.
It was that smile too. The sweet one that had gotten him out of more trouble during your marriage than you cared to admit.
“Hi, beautiful.”
“Don’t ‘hi, beautiful’ me. What’s behind your back?”
He finally brought his hand around.
A plate.
Two pieces of French toast, strawberries, and the smallest drizzle of syrup because he'd spent the last several months learning that too much sweetness first thing in the morning made you nauseous.
Your entire demeanor changed.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
He walked into the room like he'd just won some imaginary argument and placed the plate in front of you.
“You haven't eaten enough.”
“I had some fruit.”
“Three grapes.”
“Were you counting?”
“I know my wife.”
You looked at the plate again.
Then at him.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Jaafar bent down and kissed your forehead before his hand naturally found its favorite place these days.
Your stomach.
At eight months pregnant, there wasn't exactly any hiding it anymore.
Not that either of you had ever wanted to.
Your little girl had become the center of your world long before either of you had gotten the chance to meet her.
Jaafar crouched beside your chair and rubbed his palm slowly over the curve of your belly.
“Good morning, baby girl.”
You smiled, picking up a strawberry.
“She’s been beating me up since six.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Really?”
“Your daughter apparently believes my ribs are a trampoline.”
“Our daughter.”
“She's yours when she's acting like that.”
He laughed.
Then, almost on cue, there was a little movement beneath his palm.
Jaafar froze.
You had to laugh because somehow, despite feeling her move hundreds of times by now, he reacted like it was the first time every single time.
His eyes widened.
“There she is.”
Another kick.
“Hey.”
His voice immediately softened.
You watched him lower his face closer to your stomach.
“Why are you bothering Mommy?”
You ran your fingers through his curls.
“She doesn't care what you have to say.”
“She listens to me.”
“She absolutely does not.”
“She does.”
He pressed a kiss against your stomach.
Almost immediately, she moved again.
Jaafar looked up at you with the most victorious expression imaginable.
You rolled your eyes.
“Coincidence.”
“She's a daddy's girl.”
“She hasn't even met you.”
“And she already knows.”
There was something about the certainty in his voice that made your chest ache.
You reached down and touched his cheek.
He turned his head enough to kiss your palm.
For a few seconds, everything else disappeared.
The people running around downstairs.
The decorations.
The catering.
Your mother texting you every ten minutes to make sure you weren't trying to help with anything.
The fact that your baby shower was beginning in less than two hours.
It was just you, your husband, and the tiny person moving between you.
Your family.
“You know you're not supposed to see me until I come downstairs, right?”
Jaafar sighed.
“That rule doesn't make sense.”
“It’s not a rule. They just wanted you downstairs so I could get ready.”
“I've seen you get ready before.”
“Exactly why they kicked you out.”
He smiled.
“I missed you.”
“You saw me twenty minutes ago.”
“That was twenty minutes too long.”
You tried not to smile.
Failed miserably.
“Go.”
He stood and kissed you.
It was supposed to be quick, but Jaafar had never been particularly good at quick kisses with you.
His hand cupped your cheek. Yours settled against his chest.
When he finally pulled away, you stared at him.
“You're going to mess up my makeup.”
“I barely touched you.”
“You're a menace.”
“You married me.”
“I did.”
His expression softened.
“Best thing you ever did.”
You laughed.
“Get out.”
He kissed your forehead one more time before finally leaving.
And even then, he looked back twice.
->
By the time you came downstairs, the backyard looked completely different.
You stopped just beyond the doors.
“Oh my God.”
There were flowers everywhere.
Soft creams, blush pinks, and warm greenery decorated the tables. Tiny baby pictures of you and Jaafar had been incorporated into the centerpieces, much to your embarrassment, and a large sign welcomed everyone to the celebration of your baby girl.
Your eyes immediately started watering.
“No.”
Your mother pointed at you.
“You are not crying yet.”
“I can't help it!”
“You're going to ruin your makeup.”
“I knew she was going to cry,” someone called from across the room.
“I’m pregnant!”
You heard laughter.
You laughed too, carefully wiping beneath your eyes.
There were people everywhere.
Family.
Friends.
People who had watched you and Jaafar grow from two people stupidly in love with each other into husband and wife.
Now they were here to watch you become parents.
It was overwhelming in the best way.
Then you found him.
Jaafar was standing near one of the tables, talking to someone when he noticed you'd come outside.
His conversation stopped.
You actually watched him forget whatever he'd been saying.
His eyes traveled over you slowly.
The long dress you'd chosen hugged your belly perfectly, and for the first time that morning, you suddenly felt shy.
Even after years together.
Even after marriage.
Even after he'd watched you throw up, cry over commercials, struggle to put socks on, and once found you sitting on the kitchen floor at two in the morning eating cereal because the baby apparently demanded it.
He could still look at you and make you nervous.
Jaafar excused himself and made his way toward you.
You smiled.
“Hi.”
He didn't answer immediately.
His eyes were suspiciously shiny.
“Don't.”
He laughed quietly.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're about to cry.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He reached you and rested both hands against your belly.
Then he looked at you.
“You look beautiful.”
There it was.
Your chin immediately trembled.
“Now you're gonna make me cry.”
“I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
He smiled and kissed your cheek.
“You look really beautiful.”
You wrapped an arm around him.
“Thank you.”
For a moment, Jaafar just held you.
His hand moved slowly up and down your back while the party continued around you.
Eventually, you felt his lips against your temple.
“I love you.”
You squeezed him tighter.
“I love you too.”
->
The baby shower quickly reminded you that marrying into a large family meant there was absolutely no such thing as a small celebration.
Someone was always touching your stomach.
Someone was always asking how you felt.
Someone was always trying to feed you.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was Jaafar, who apparently believed being an expectant father meant he needed to monitor your every movement.
You reached toward the ground once.
Once.
His voice came from somewhere behind you.
“Don't bend down.”
You slowly straightened.
“I dropped my napkin.”
“I'll get it.”
“I am pregnant, not incapacitated.”
“I know.”
He picked it up anyway.
Later, you tried carrying three gifts from one table to another.
They were tiny.
One was literally a gift bag containing pacifiers.
Jaafar appeared again.
“Give me those.”
You stared at him.
“Are you tracking me?”
“No.”
“You keep appearing.”
“Because you keep trying to do stuff.”
“Walking ten feet with pacifiers isn't manual labor.”
“You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.”
“I am!”
“Then sit down.”
Your mouth fell open.
He immediately realized his mistake.
“Actually, don't look at me like that.”
“You just told a woman who is eight months pregnant with your child to sit down.”
“I suggested.”
“You did not suggest.”
“I lovingly encouraged.”
You started laughing before you could maintain the fake attitude.
Jaafar smiled and leaned down to kiss you.
“You're annoying.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
His hand rested beneath your belly, gently taking some of the weight.
You sighed.
That had become another one of his favorite things to do.
The first time he'd lifted your stomach for you and watched the relief spread across your face, he'd looked genuinely horrified.
“You carry this around all day?”
You'd nearly thrown something at him.
Now he did it whenever you were standing for too long.
You leaned back against him.
“That feels so good.”
“I got you.”
And he did.
He always did.
->
The games were ridiculous.
There was no other way to describe them.
Someone had decided that the men needed to race to diaper baby dolls.
Jaafar approached the challenge with the seriousness of an Olympic athlete.
“You know that's backwards, right?”
He looked down.
The diaper was, in fact, backwards.
“No, it's not.”
“It literally is.”
“It's innovative.”
“Please don't innovate on our actual child.”
Everyone around you laughed.
Jaafar looked at the doll.
Then at you.
Then quietly started fixing the diaper.
You laughed so hard your stomach began hurting.
“Stop making me laugh!”
“You're the one heckling me!”
“You put the diaper on backwards!”
“I’m learning!”
Despite his disastrous diaper performance, he somehow managed to win the bottle-drinking competition.
You watched your grown husband aggressively drink apple juice from a baby bottle while everyone screamed encouragement.
It was possibly the least attractive thing you'd ever witnessed.
You had never loved him more.
->
Later came the gifts.
Tiny clothes.
Tiny socks.
Tiny shoes that made you cry for reasons you couldn't explain.
Every time you held something up, the reality settled a little deeper.
There was going to be a baby wearing these.
Your baby.
Your daughter.
At one point, you unfolded a tiny white onesie.
Across the front, someone had printed:
Daddy's Little Girl.
The crowd immediately reacted.
You laughed and held it toward Jaafar.
“Oh, you're gonna love this.”
He took it from you.
Something changed.
It was subtle.
His smile remained, but he got quieter.
His fingers traced over the tiny letters.
Then over the sleeve.
The entire thing barely looked big enough to fit a real person.
You knew that look.
You reached for his hand.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
“Yeah.”
But his voice cracked slightly.
Your heart squeezed.
“Baby.”
He laughed under his breath, looking down.
“I'm good.”
Someone jokingly called out that he was crying.
“I’m not crying.”
That only made everyone laugh.
You smiled, but you squeezed his hand again.
Jaafar looked at you.
And there was so much emotion in his face that the noise around you seemed to fade.
“I’m really gonna be somebody's dad.”
Your smile softened.
“Yeah.”
He looked down at the onesie again.
“Somebody's little girl.”
“Our little girl.”
He nodded.
“Our little girl.”
You touched his cheek.
That was when the tear finally escaped.
Just one.
Jaafar quickly wiped it away and laughed, slightly embarrassed.
You weren't having that.
You wrapped your arms around him as much as your belly allowed.
He immediately held you.
Nobody teased anymore.
Because suddenly, everyone understood.
This wasn't just a baby shower.
This was the last stretch before everything changed.
Before your daughter arrived.
Before the two of you became three.
->
The party had mostly ended by sunset.
The backyard was quieter now.
A few family members remained inside, and gifts covered half your living room.
You had abandoned your shoes somewhere hours ago.
Your feet hurt.
Your back hurt.
You were exhausted.
And unbelievably happy.
You found Jaafar outside alone.
He was standing near one of the tables, looking through the baby pictures that had been used as decorations.
You walked up behind him.
“What are you doing?”
He held up a picture.
It was one of you as a baby.
Round cheeks.
Tiny pigtails.
A ridiculous little dress.
He smiled.
“Trying to figure out what she's gonna look like.”
You rested your head against his arm.
“Well, hopefully she gets my baby pictures.”
“What's wrong with mine?”
“You had a big head.”
His mouth dropped open.
“I was a baby.”
“With a big head.”
“That's crazy.”
You laughed.
He picked up another picture.
This one was him.
You pointed immediately.
“See?”
“My head looks normal.”
“It was enormous.”
“I'm telling our daughter you bullied me.”
“She's gonna agree with me.”
He smiled and put the picture down.
Then his arm wrapped around you.
The two of you stood quietly.
The sun was disappearing behind the trees.
Pink and orange stretched across the sky.
You could hear your family laughing somewhere inside.
Your hand rested over your stomach.
Jaafar's covered yours.
“She'll be here soon.”
You whispered it.
Maybe because saying it any louder made it too real.
He nodded.
“I know.”
“Are you scared?”
There was a pause.
“A little.”
You looked up.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
He rubbed his thumb over your stomach.
“I've never done this before.”
“Neither have I.”
“I know.”
His eyes stayed on your belly.
“I just want to be good at it.”
Something in his voice made you quiet.
“I want her to know she can come to me. About anything.”
His fingers moved slowly against the fabric of your dress.
“I want her to know she's loved before she ever has to ask.”
Your eyes burned.
“I want her to grow up and never question whether her dad is proud of her.”
“Jaafar…”
“And I want to take care of you.”
He looked at you then.
“Because you're giving me this.”
You immediately shook your head.
“We're giving each other this.”
His expression softened.
You took his hand and kissed his knuckles.
“You don't have to be perfect.”
“I know.”
“You're going to mess up.”
He laughed quietly.
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious. So am I.”
You intertwined your fingers.
“But she doesn't need perfect parents.”
You looked down at your stomach.
“She just needs us.”
His eyes watered again.
You smiled.
“Look at you.”
“Stop.”
“You've cried more than me today.”
“That's not true.”
“It absolutely is.”
He pulled you closer.
“I'm allowed to be emotional.”
“You are.”
You smiled against him.
“It's cute.”
He kissed your forehead.
The two of you stayed there until you felt movement.
You gasped softly.
Jaafar immediately looked down.
“She moved?”
You nodded.
His hand shifted.
A second later, she kicked again.
Right beneath his palm.
“There she is.”
His entire face lit up.
“Hi, baby.”
You watched him.
The man you'd met.
The man you'd fallen in love with.
The man who'd become your husband.
Now kneeling in front of you in the grass, talking to your stomach like your daughter could understand every word.
“Everybody came to see you today.”
Another movement.
“I know. You're popular already.”
You laughed softly.
He pressed a kiss to your stomach.
“Daddy loves you.”
Your throat tightened.
“And Mommy.”
He looked up at you.
“I really, really love your mommy.”
That did it.
A tear rolled down your cheek.
Jaafar stood immediately.
“Hey.”
“You started it.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“You're being sweet.”
He smiled and wiped your cheek.
“Sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
He kissed you softly.
“I’m not.”
You leaned your forehead against his.
His hands settled at your waist.
Yours rested against his chest.
For a few moments, neither of you said anything.
There wasn't really anything left to say.
You had spent months imagining her.
Wondering whose nose she'd have.
Whose eyes.
Whether she'd be quiet like her father could be or stubborn like her mother.
You'd wondered what her laugh would sound like.
What her first word would be.
How it would feel to finally hold the little person who had spent months kicking you from the inside.
There were so many things you didn't know yet.
But standing there with Jaafar, you realized there was one thing you did.
Your daughter would never have to wonder if she'd been wanted.
She'd never have to wonder whether she'd been loved before she arrived.
Because her father already talked to her every morning.
Because there was an entire house filled with gifts from people waiting to meet her.
Because her mother already knew the rhythm of her movements.
Because somewhere upstairs, her crib was waiting beside a rocking chair Jaafar had spent three hours assembling and another hour insisting wasn't crooked.
She already had a home.
A family.
A father who cried over onesies.
A mother who loved watching him become a dad before the baby was even here.
Jaafar's hand covered yours again.
“You ready to go inside?”
“In a minute.”
“Okay.”
He didn't ask why.
He simply stayed.
You rested against his chest and looked out at what remained of the baby shower.
Eventually, the decorations would come down.
The flowers would wilt.
The gifts would be opened, washed, folded and put away.
Life would become quiet again.
But only for a little while.
Because soon there would be crying at three in the morning.
Bottles on the counter.
Tiny socks disappearing in the laundry.
A car seat in the backseat.
Pictures filling both of your phones.
A little girl asleep against Jaafar's chest.
A little voice eventually calling him daddy.
You closed your eyes.
His lips pressed against the top of your head.
And beneath both of your hands, your daughter moved again.
Almost like she was reminding you that she was there.
That she was coming.
Jaafar laughed quietly.
You felt it rumble through his chest.
“Just the three of us.”
You looked up at him.
“For now.”
He smiled.
“For now.”
And somehow, after an entire day surrounded by people who loved you, that quiet moment became your favorite part.
Your husband's arms around you.
Your daughter safe beneath your heart.
And the overwhelming realization that the greatest thing the two of you had ever made together wasn't a memory, or a home, or even the life you'd built.
The fact that they put yelena in a movie with two sisters one blonde and one redhead and one of them is dead and the fact they made yelena the one to tell peter that jean has a sister…brutal
i miss you 2012 avengers. i miss you the avengers tower. i miss you irondad and spiderson. i miss you meme lord shuri and peter. i miss you loki lingering in the tower for no other reason than that he's the main love interest. i miss you poptart-eating thor. i miss you grumpy bucky barnes. i miss you old man, chronically offline steve rogers. i miss you clint in the vents. i miss you girls night with wanda and natasha. i miss you resurrected, shamelessly flirty pietro. i miss you clueless, socially inept vision. i miss you the rare bruce banner feature. i miss you sassy sam wilson. i miss you cheeky reader who always called fury by his first name. i miss you super nanny phil coulson. i miss you christmas avengers blurbs in the middle of the fanfiction written by an autistic 14 year old. i miss you 😔😔😔
Operation: Hangout In Peace | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader
SUMMARY: When you start dating the intern, Peter Parker, your dad enforces a list of rules for when he comes over. In order to ensure the rules are followed, you two must be babysat at all times, meaning the team circles in and out of who’s on monitoring duties. When you sneak out to hangout with your boyfriend without your father’s permission, the entire group of the world’s mightiest heroes are sent out on one major mission. Finding you…until they find out you’re building legos…? Tony begins to question his parenting. Perhaps a heart to heart conversation will help (it won't).
A/N: Consider this a part 2 to Dirty Little Secret :)
WARNINGS: Og tower fic so yes you have Wanda’s powers but purple, Clint is in the vents, Thor has poptarts, Steve is so incredibly corny (he uses ‘Gen Z lingo’), reader and Peter want to kiss in peace, sassy Peter
WC: 5.9K
Main Masterlist!
Being the daughter of Tony Stark had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks.
For one, you weren’t allowed to have a boyfriend. But when you went out anyway and started dating the new intern, who turned out to be Spider-Man, your dad realized there was no stopping you.
So, he set ground rules. Such a curfew, monitored hangouts, and so much more to the point it felt like your boyfriend wasn’t even your boyfriend.
The only alone time you ever got was at school, and even then you weren’t alone with the thousands of students and hundreds of staff.
When you did hangout one on one, it had to be monitored, either by F.R.I.D.A.Y. or another member of the team.
You preferred F.R.I.D.A.Y. because it was far less embarrassing and you could be alone in your room, but the door had to be open. She’d warn you guys to keep space between you when you’d lay in your bed, watching a movie. As soon as Peter’s arm even dared to wrap around you, she’d beep and tell him to remove his arm or else lethal action would be taken.
Peter would pull his lips into a tight line and cross his arms over his chest with a huff, no longer even interested in the movie on the laptop.
Out of all the babysitters who’d been tasked to watch the two of you, you and Peter learned who you liked best and who you despised the most.
You both mostly liked it when Natasha was in charge of watching you.
She’d let you both go into your room with the door shut because truth be told, she didn’t care.
On one occasion, however, she was banned from ever watching you two again.
The door to your bedroom was shut, the first rule already broken. Music played softly from behind the door and Natasha was sitting in the living room, legs kicked up on the coffee table, book in hand.
She checked her watch, noting that there was about another hour before Tony got back.
Unfortunately for her, you, and Peter, he was coming back earlier.
In your room, Peter sat at your desk, fixing his web shooters as you sat on your bed finishing up some homework.
Peter called you over to get your opinion on the altered design. You shot out of the bed and walked over, leaning against the desk beside him as he explained it.
You smiled. “Web grenades,” you said in awe. “That’s super cool, Peter.”
Peter’s face warmed up. “You think so?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
The room went quiet, the only sound being the music.
Peter slowly leaned in as did you. Your eyes fluttered shut, nose brushing against the tip of his when-
“Parker! Out! Now!”
Peter jumped back, the desk chair falling from beneath him. He hit the floor with a loud thud, panic racing through his body.
Your eyes widened, seeing your dad in the doorway who looked like he was about five seconds away from shooting him with his repulsor.
“Mr. Stark! I-”
“Save it,” Tony lectured. “Get up and get out of here.”
Peter almost tripped trying to stand up. He grabbed his stuff and tugged his shoes on, the laces untied. He was about to leave, but stopped.
He raced over to you. “Bye! See you tomorrow!” He pecked your cheek, earning him a near death sentence.
“Oh, you little shit!” Tony yelled. “I swear, I’m gonna-!”
Peter yelped, racing out the door where you found Natasha giving you an apologetic look.
After Natasha got fired from babysitting duties, she was replaced mostly by Bruce who still gave you and Peter space, but ensured there were still boundaries that Tony wanted.
You were no longer allowed to have the boy in your room, but Bruce allowed it, so long as the door was open.
He’d swing by and check in on you both every once in a while, asking if either of you were hungry or needed anything.
The first time he babysat you both, he came by to check in on you and found you both sitting on the floor going through Peter’s comics.
Peter was flipping through one, yapping your ear off about it as you rested your head on his shoulder.
Bruce stood in the doorway for a moment, a small smile on his lips. He cleared his throat and immediately you both jumped back, pretending that you weren’t so close.
“Don’t worry,” Bruce said. “You don’t have to worry about me telling Stark,” he laughed. “I was just going to order a pizza. What kind do you kids want?”
And that was the moment you two started to prefer it when Bruce was on patrol.
Then, there was the worst of the worst.
Sam and Bucky.
The first time you realized they were the ones on watch for the day, you told Peter to just not come over.
He insisted on coming over because he wanted to ‘spend time with his girlfriend’, which he unfortunately ended up regretting.
For starters, they heavily enforced the rules. You and Peter weren’t allowed in your room under any circumstances.
You had to sit on the couch, at least two cushions apart while Sam and Bucky monitored from the chairs directly across from you.
It was so incredibly awkward for two teenagers, but they seemed entertained by it.
At first, neither you nor Peter spoke, you just glared at Bucky while Peter stared at the floor, too nervous to meet the gaze of either men.
And it stayed like that for about twenty minutes until Sam spoke up.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you two want to hangout so bad if all you do is sit in silence? Aren’t you gonna do something?”
“What are we allowed to do?” you asked. “I feel like I’m in prison on a monitored visit.”
Bucky shrugged, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Talk, watch something, play with those stupid legos you guys like,” he suggested. “I don’t know. Just stop staring at me, it’s getting weird now.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous,” you grumbled.
Peter turned towards you, trying to make the best of the situation. “I was talking to Ned about Homecoming and we were thinking that-”
“No,” Bucky interrupted. “Absolutely not.”
Peter pressed his brows together, slowly turning to face Bucky with narrowed eyes. “What?”
“No,” Sam chimed in, shaking his head. “Nope.”
You blinked. “No, what?”
“No!” Bucky and Sam shouted at the same time as if it were obvious.
Peter sank back into the couch, face flushed pink.
You pulled your lips into a tight line, shifting awkwardly.
If you could blow up the entire tower as revenge, you would. You couldn’t understand why your dad had these stupid rules in the first place and you certainly couldn’t understand why Sam and Bucky felt the need to even enforce them.
You supposed they just enjoyed watching you and Peter suffer.
It was dead silent again until you made a suggestion.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Peter’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, sure!”
You got up and grabbed the remote, turning the T.V. on. You and Peter both settled on Star Wars and before you could even hit play, Bucky snatched the remote from your hand.
“Hey!” you exclaimed. “Give that back!”
“We’re not watching that,” he said, exiting out of the screen. He stood beside the couch, right where you were standing, one hand on his hip as if he were watching an intense match of Sunday night football. “We’re watching something else.”
You groaned and threw your head back. “You know, you don’t have to watch it if you leave.”
“And leave you two alone?” Sam chuckled. “No way.”
Bucky clicked a few buttons and suddenly a new movie was playing.
“What the hell is this?” you asked as both men moved their chairs to either side of the couch.
“A real movie,” Bucky said plainly, and suddenly you recognized the movie he had played on numerous occasions.
Some old war movie from what you thought to be a hundred years ago. It probably predated the dinosaurs which was when you thought Steve and Bucky were born.
“I don’t wanna watch this,” you whined. “Put it back on Star Wars.”
“No,” Bucky said. “Now be quiet and watch. This is important historical stuff.”
Your jaw tightened as you side eyed him from beside you. You turned your gaze to the screens and immediately started to grow bored.
You were about thirty minutes in and Peter was starting to grow antsy too.
He glanced over at you and you smiled softly at him.
His fingers slowly slid across the cushions, yours doing the same until you met halfway.
Your fingers intertwined with his as you both looked back to the screen.
It stayed that way for about two minutes because Sam glanced over to check on you. He leaned forward in his chair and did a double take before he shot up from his seat.
“Oh, hell no!”
Sam and Bucky forced you both apart and ended up kicking Peter out, telling an over exaggerated story to your father about what happened.
And that was when you decided you hated them as babysitters.
Wanda and Loki came along and because of their powers, they always knew what was going on, no matter how sneaky you thought you were, which started to grow annoying.
Wanda didn’t necessarily care what you were doing, but she did start to care when all she could hear was the sounds of you two kissing behind closed doors. That was when she said you weren’t allowed to kiss anymore.
Loki told the entire tower a long while ago that he ‘despised the Stark witch with purple powers’, so naturally when he came along, it felt like you were under house arrest. Sometimes Peter could try to sneak a kiss from you and end up blasted twenty feet away from you. Other times, Loki wouldn’t even let you look or speak to Peter.
Then there was Thor who would quite literally sit between you two on the couch, telling stories about his life as a young boy on Asgard while smacking on an entire box of Poptarts with his mouth wide open.
And then there was Vision who took his job incredibly seriously, making the tower feel like a prison.
Steve came around every once in a while and ran the place like the damn navy, enforcing rules left and right like his life depended on it.
Then there was Clint…
One time he pretended not to care what you and Peter did, which resulted in you both in your room with the door shut. You were in the middle of a pretty intense game of Mario Kart when Clint came plummeting through the vent, straight into your room.
He was spying on you both through the goddamn vents!
Soon enough, you and Peter came to the realization that the only way to actually be able to spend time with one another would be to sneak you out of the tower.
So, you used your genius little Stark brain to disable F.R.I.D.A.Y. and disengage all defense systems at your bedroom window.
It was half past midnight and no one ever came by your room that late.
Now was the perfect time to head out.
A soft thud hit your window and you smiled, seeing a masked hero waving at you on the other side, the little spider lenses conveying excitement.
You opened up and your window and your boyfriend landed inside your room with quiet, practiced ease.
“Hi,” he whispered, cheesing from under his mask.
You smirked. “Hi.” You walked over to him, and his hands found your waist. Your fingers came up and lifted his mask just above his nose, pecking his lips quickly before pulling his mask back down.
Peter’s face flushed pink. “Are you ready?”
You nodded. “Yeah, just need my jacket,” you whispered, heading for your closet.
“Tiny Stark?”
You froze, a small gasp escaping you.
Peter glanced at you, fear in his eyes.
“Yeah…?”
“You okay?” the voice you recognized as Thor yawned.
“Yeah.”
…
…
…
“Is someone in there? I thought I heard you talking.”
“I’m…I’m on the phone. With- with uh- MJ.”
…
…
…
“Makes sense. Night.”
“Goodnight.”
You stood there for a second, listening to Thor’s footsteps head back to his room. You let out a sigh of relief.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
You grabbed your coat and slipped it on. Peter held his arms out to you, and you wrapped your legs around him, arms wrapping around his neck.
He climbed out of the window and shut it quietly.
“Ready?” he asked.
You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes. “No,” you replied honestly. “Just go.”
Peter jumped off of the side of the tower, flicking his wrist, a line of web catching onto the neighboring building.
“Holy shit!” you exclaimed, freaking out. You gripped onto him tighter, squeezing your eyes shut as your stomach dropped with each and every swing.
“It’s okay!” Peter chuckled. “I’ve got you!”
“What the hell!” you exclaimed, nails digging into the back of his suit. “How do you do this?!”
Thankfully the swing to Peter’s apartment wasn’t too far. He landed on the window and opened it, helping you inside.
You climbed in and gasped, clutching your stomach as he climbed inside, shutting the window.
“You okay?” he asked, yanking his mask off and tossing it aside.
You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah…I don’t know how you do that without throwing up,” you grimaced.
Peter chuckled. “Wanna build legos without getting yelled at?” he asked, already making his way over to his stash.
“Yeah!” you beamed.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Little did you know before sneaking out, Tony couldn’t sleep. He was up late at night down in the lab, tinkering as he always did when his mind wasn’t at ease.
He’d been hearing all about how you and Peter were breaking rules left and right and how the babysitting situation with Loki had gotten so out of hand that Peter refused to come over anymore, much to your dismay.
Nat had gotten into Tony’s ear about letting you be a teenager and have your boyfriend over without overbearing you two. There was no issue with ground rules, the issues stemmed from how ridiculous they were.
With a loud clank, Tony stropped his screw driver and pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing that he should probably talk to you about it. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., check to see if the little Stark is sleeping.”
“Checking in on Stark Jr.”
Tony started mumbling to himself about how stupid the whole situation was. He couldn’t understand why you had to choose Peter of all people and he couldn’t understand why you even wanted a boyfriend.
Not too long ago you were ranting about how stupid boys were but as soon as Peter came into your life, you only ever wanted to be around one person, which was him.
“I am unable to contact her through her bedroom. It would appear that all communication systems have been disabled in her room and that all defense systems outside her room have been disengaged.”
Tony blinked, nodding his head as he was both impressed and shocked that you’d do such a thing.
Then again, you were his daughter.
“Huh…” he muttered to himself. “Give me playback on Parker’s suit,” he said, pushing his rolling chair across the floor to his monitor. Immediately, he put two and two together. You and Peter were up to something.
“All recording systems inside of the suit have also been disabled.”
Tony stared at his reflection in the monitor, his finger hovering over the power button. “Those little shitheads…”
Tony leaped up from his desk. “Gather the team, would you? We’re going to find them.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter had changed out of his suit into pajama pants and some nerdy t-shirt Ned gave him for Christmas. You were sitting on the floor across from each other assembling legos, the Imperial Star Destroyer to be exact.
Peter was babbling on and on about the small missions he had been taking to save the city, ranging from saving a cat from a tree and helping an old woman cross the road.
You couldn’t help but to smile at how excited he was to save people. It was absolutely adorable.
You snapped a couple of lego pierces together and giggled as he mimicked bank alarms going off, and flicking his wrist as if to show you how he swung in to save the day.
Little did the two of you know, outside, the entire team of heroes were on high alert searching for you.
“I’ve got eyes on the target,” Clint said through the radio.
He was perched on a building across the way from Peter’s apartment, an arrow aimed right at the window.
“Where?” Tony asked almost immediately.
“His place.”
“Well, what are they doing?”
Clint chuckled. “Building…legos.”
Loki’s laugh echoed through the comms. “You mean to tell me this idiot mortal flying around in a bucket of bolts dragged us all out here to look for his offspring who’s building legos?”
“She seriously snuck out to build goddamn legos?” Bucky scoffed over the comms. “Real fine parenting, Stark.”
Nat hummed. “Weren’t you the one who told Tony her and Peter were breaking all the rules while you were on babysitting duty?”
“Because they were,” Sam interjected. “They were holding hands.”
“What’s so bad about hand holding?” Bruce asked with an awkward laugh.
“You know,” Thor’s voice boomed, making Clint wince and take his ear piece out, still able to make out everything Thor was saying. “Back on Asgard, there was this myth that said if you held hands with your lover for an extended period of time, nothing in the cosmos could tear you apart.”
“Well, I’m about to tear them apart,” Tony announced. “I’m going in.”
“Why?” Wanda asked. “They’re not doing anything harmful.”
“Stark loves control,” Steve retorted.
“Uh…” Nat trailed off. “They both told me that you pulled out a tape measure to make sure they were three feet apart. Sounds like you’re equally controlling.”
“Structure isn’t control.”
Tony landed on the building beside Clint who was putting his ear piece back in. “How long have they been building legos for?”
Clint shrugged. “Since I got here.”
Tony watched through the window as Peter carefully took the pieces you assembled and clicked it to the ones he assembled.
Peter smiled and put his hand up, high fiving you.
Tony flinched, catching his breath. “Can you stop doing your spy shit on us? You’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”
Clint only chuckled, completely used to Nat sneaking up on people.
“You’re going to give yourself one if you keep losing your mind over every little thing she does,” she said.
“Can we go home now, or what?” Loki asked over the comms. “I’m losing my eight hours of sleep.”
Before Tony could say something snarky, Nat spoke up. “Yes, you can all go back. Stark thanks you all for your help.”
“No he doesn’t,” Bucky grimaced.
Clint grabbed his arrows. “I’m out. Don’t kill her, she’s kind of funny, slightly less annoying than you,” he said, placing a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder.
Tony flipped him off and he climbed down from the building.
The team headed home, leaving Nat and Tony on the roof.
Tony let out an exasperated sigh as he watched you start to put together the next pieces of the lego set, glancing up at Peter every now and then with such a loving look in your eyes.
“I hate having to watch her grow up,” he mumbled.
Nat turned to him with a small smile. “I can imagine how difficult it is, but the more you try to stop her, the more she’ll fight you on it. Like right now,” she said, motioning to the window. “She literally just snuck out to build legos. That’s insane, Tony.”
Tony groaned. “Why does she even want a boyfriend? Life was so easy when that freaking kid wasn’t here. Maybe I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” Nat laughed. “You like him and honestly, you should be glad she chose him. He likes her a lot.”
Tony hummed. “I guess he’s a half decent kid…”
Back inside the bedroom, Peter’s brows pressed together as he glanced out of the window.
“What’s wrong?” you asked.
Peter’s spider senses were going off, alerting him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. “I don’t know…” he trailed off. “I feel like someone’s watching us or something.”
You glanced out the window, not seeing anything. “I don’t see anything, Peter.”
Peter got up and drew the curtains back, returning back to the floor, but instead of sitting across from you, he sat beside you.
“You don’t think your dad knows…” he whispered, as if he were lurking somewhere. “Do you?”
You shrugged. “Honestly, if he knew, he would’ve probably blasted you with a bomb by now.”
Peter’s brows rose. “How reassuring.”
You giggled and pecked him on the lips. “You’ll be fine.”
You went to put the lego pieces back together, but Peter’s hand grabbed your waist. You turned your gaze back to him. “What?”
“You can’t just kiss me on the lips like that and turn away from me,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks and nose burning pink.
Your lips curved upward as you leaned in, kissing him slowly as he melted into it.
His hand came up and cupped your face softly, lips moving against yours gently, causing you to sigh in content.
Finally, you could kiss your boyfriend in piece.
No babysitters.
No threats.
No interruptions-
“Open the curtains or I’ll send a repulsor through it.”
You and Peter pulled away, shock on your faces at hearing your father’s voice through Peter’s phone.
“What the?!” Peter exclaimed. “How did you-”
“Five, four, three, two-”
“Okay! Okay!” Peter said, scrambling to his feet and yanking the curtains open only to find Tony hovering there in his suit.
“Sneaking out to build legos, huh?” he asked, looking right at you.
You rolled your eyes. “And make out, but-”
“Don’t say that!” Peter hissed, fearing for his life.
“Open this window,” Tony demanded.
Peter gave you a petrified look before opening the window with shaking hands.
The head of your father’s suit turned to you, then back to Peter. “Take her back home. Right now,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Stark!” Peter replied.
“And you,” Tony said, turning to face you. “You’re grounded for…I don’t know how long but you’re grounded.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You were in fact not grounded.
Natasha had gotten into Tony’s ear again about letting you be a teenager and explained to him that he could set boundaries without being overbearing.
So, that’s how Peter ended up allowed back at the tower in your bedroom, but the door had to stay cracked open a minimum of three inches and you had to stay at least two feet apart from one another instead of three.
No kissing, hand holding, or hugging was allowed.
It was so stupid, but you went along with it.
Until you didn’t.
You’d leave the door cracked open and kiss Peter all you wanted, listening for footsteps. Whenever you two heard them, you’d separate and act like you weren’t doing anything.
You got away with it for a long time until Tony caught you both one day and realized that you had been breaking rules all along.
He was walking up to your room to see if you wanted some of the dinner Wanda had whipped up.
The soft hum of music played from your room and he could faintly make out one additional sound.
The unmistakable sound of two people kissing.
He slowly peaked through the crack in your door and low and behold, you and Peter were making out on your bed.
“Hey!” he shouted.
You gasped, pulling away from Peter. Eyes wide, you stuck your hand out, purple mist covering the door handle and slamming the wood shut.
Tony yanked at the door, banging on it with his fist. “You open this goddamn door, right now!”
A few seconds later, your hold on the door loosened and Tony came crashing inside, a vein or two popping out of his forehead.
You were sitting on one end of the bed, Peter on the other with a comic in his hands, acting as if he had been reading it the whole time and not making out with you.
Tony glanced between the two of you, blinking rapidly as if it would magically put you back into the position you had been caught in just seconds ago.
For a second he thought he was losing his mind until you spoke up. Then it hit him that you were messing with him.
You smirked at your dad’s face. “What?” you asked.
Tony was at a loss for words after that.
He didn’t want you to sneak around him anymore and he thought he was making the rules less strict, so he couldn’t understand why you continued to go against his word.
After a week of you and Peter pulling the same stunt, he had grown tired of it.
He went to Natasha, the only person he thought could help.
“And they just won’t stop,” he went on, pacing his lab. “I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous.”
Nat sat at one of the spinning chairs and shrugged. “I mean…they’re just kissing, right?”
“But it’s constant!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “And she’s only doing it to piss me off.”
“Well it’s working,” Nat laughed.
Tony sighed and leaned against the metal of the desk. “I’m going to have an aneurysm.”
Nat sighed and kicked her feet up onto the desk. “Just…talk to them,” she said plainly. “Get on their level and have a conversation. Tell them that he’s allowed over but they have to keep the door open.”
“I did!”
“No,” Nat said with a head shake. “You said they have to keep the door open and they can’t even hold hands,” she corrected. “You can’t set ridiculous ground rules and expect them to follow the illogical ones.”
Tony groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t you just talk to them for me? You’re good at the whole…heart to heart thing.”
Growing up, your father’s father wasn’t really the greatest parent, and Tony didn’t want to follow in those steps. However, because he had a shitty father, he wasn’t so sure how to get on your level and have a conversation like the one Nat was proposing without snapping.
Nat snorted. “She’s not my kid.”
“Yeah, but she acts like you’re her mom so…”
“No Tony, you can do it.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Tony sat on the stairs just a few feet away from your bedroom, reading over the crumpled piece of paper in his hands.
Steve walked by and eyed him. “What’s that?”
Tony rubbed his eyes. “A heart to heart.”
“You have a heart?” Steve asked, earning a glare from Tony. “My fault,” he said, pulling his lips into a tight line.
Tony raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. “My fault?” he repeated. “How old are you?”
Steve smiled, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket. “Parker and your daughter have been teaching me all the ‘hip’ lingo.”
Tony cringed. “For the love of God, don’t say ‘hip’.”
Steve flipped through his pages. “Oh! Right here…” he said, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see better.
“Please don’t,” Tony sighed. “I really don’t have the patience for this.”
“Captain America mogs Iron Man,” Steve said proudly with a smile, shutting his book. “It basically means-”
“I know what it means,” Tony deadpanned. He swatted his hand at Steve. “Now, get out of here please. And I hope you realize no one says that in real life.”
Steve opened his mouth to say something but stopped.
Just a few feet away, Steve and Tony could hear you and Peter kissing from outside of your door and the sound of both of your soft giggles in between them.
Steve smirked at Tony’s jaw clenching. “Duty calls,” he said, nodding at Tony before taking a step past him down the stairs. He stopped about two steps below the one Tony was sitting at. “Sounds like Parker’s got rizz.”
“Literally no one says that,” Tony said, completely exasperated. “They’re setting you up to get bullied, by the way.”
Steve shrugged, waltzing down the stairs.
Tony groaned. “I hate this tower,” he mumbled to himself before standing up and making his way over to your bedroom door.
He could still faintly hear you and Peter kissing over the music, followed by your giggle.
“Peter, stop!”
“You don’t like it?”
“No!” you laughed.
Peter hummed and again, the sound of kissing ensued.
Tony shut his eyes in annoyance and knocked. “Hey…” he trailed off. “I…I just wanna talk.”
The door slowly creaked open, purple mist on the handle.
You sat on one end of the bed, Peter on the other, who gave Tony an annoyed look, which was the first time he had done so, but at this point, he was completely unaware of his expressions. He just wanted to go back to kissing you and hearing your soft laughter at his antics.
Tony shut the door and walked into your room, grabbing your desk chair and pulling it up beside your bed. “We need to talk,” he said, a slight nervousness in his tone that was a few seconds away from being taken advantage of.
“Okay…?” you said, completely unaware as to where this was going, because never in your life had you seen your father so awkward.
You and Peter shifted, moving to sit beside one another, legs criss crossed. The music still played, adding to the awkwardness.
“I wanted…” he trailed off, shutting his eyes. “I- what I- goddamn it!” he exclaimed, losing his train of thought over the music. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., kill the music, would you?”
“Stopping the music.”
Tony let out a sigh and clicked his tongue. “I was trying to say that…we uh…oh shit, uhm…” He blinked, looking up at the ceiling trying to remember the not so passive aggressive words Natasha told him to use.
Peter slowly leaned over to you, whispering something into your ear that Tony couldn’t make out.
You immediately giggled, nodding your head in agreement.
You both looked back at your father, and you tried your best to conceal the laugh coming out, but failed miserably.
Tony watched, lips parted. He glanced at you, then looked to your boyfriend who he now wanted to kill. “Alright, you know what. It’s your Aunt May,” he said suddenly, staring daggers at Peter.
Peter blinked, his heart already beating a million miles a minute. “What?! Aunt May?!”
“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Something happened. Something bad.”
“Is she gonna be okay?!”
Tony shrugged. “I don’t know, but we should leave and get you back home.”
Peter followed Tony out of the Tower and into his car, but not before giving you a quick kiss.
In the car, he was freaking out, insisting that he should just swing to his apartment to get there faster.
“But, Mr. Stark, if I swing I can-”
“You don’t need to-”
“My aunt! What if she-”
“Relax.”
“Oh, my gosh what if-”
“Would you just put a cork in it-”
“Aunt May-!”
Tony slammed on the breaks in the middle of the road, making a hundred cars honk at him. “Look! Nothing is wrong with your Aunt May!”
“…Huh…?”
Tony lightly let off the gas, driving down the street, eyes fixated on the road. “There’s nothing wrong with your aunt,” he said, tone more leveled.
“I don’t understand,” Peter said. “You said that-”
“I know what I said and I said that because there’s something very wrong with what’s going on between you and my daughter.”
Peter’s heart sank. He didn’t want to be banned from the tower again and he sure as hell didn’t want you to not be allowed to date him.
“Oh, Mr. Stark,” he said. “I’m sorry I…I don’t know what I’m sorry for because apparently even breathing in her presence is a crime but-”
“Look, pal,” Tony said, holding a finger up in Peter’s face. “Watch that mouth on you.”
Peter sunk in his seat. “Sorry…”
“I don’t understand why you two constantly need to be kissing or touching each other,” he grimaced. “If you would behave like normal human beings, then maybe we wouldn’t need such intense ground rules.”
Peter blinked. “What’s the point in having a girlfriend if you can’t kiss her? You’re basically just friends at that point.”
“Then just be friends.”
“But I wanna kiss her!”
Tony yanked the wheel, making Peter hit his head against the glass. He parked the car on the side of the road and turned to face Peter properly.
“Do you want to be banned from the tower again?”
“No…” Peter grumbled, rubbing the side of his head.
“Okay. Then you can…date…” Tony grimaced, as if the words pained him to say. “…my daughter, so long as you don’t kiss and leave six feet between you two.”
“I thought it was two!”
“Well, it’s six now!”
Peter sat up straight, a pleading look in his eye. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, your daughter is the best thing that has happened to me,” he said sincerely.
Tony shrugged. “Yeah, she kinda has that effect on people. She gets it from me.”
“Sure,” Peter deadpanned, rolling his eyes with a sass Tony hadn’t seen. “Anyway, my point is, I can’t just be her friend. I…I love her.”
Tony’s eyes widened as his brows rose. “You? Love my daughter?”
Peter’s face flushed pink, realizing that he had just admitted it out loud. He loved Tony Stark’s daughter. “Yes.”
Tony stared at Peter for a long while, so long that Peter was beginning to think that he was plotting ways to kill him.
“Incoming call from Romanoff,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced.
“Answer it,” Tony said.
“Tony,” Natasha’s voice came in sternly.
“Natasha.”
“Where are you? Where is Peter?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Natasha said. “But you should be.”
Tony’s brows pressed together. “Why?”
“Because your daughter and Loki are using their voodoo magic stuff to try and curse you.”
“What?! I thought he didn’t like her!”
“Turns out he does, so I would highly suggest bringing Peter back.”
If there was one thing Tony was afraid of, it was you and the God of Mischief himself teaming up to plot his demise.
“So…does this mean I can still date your daughter?” Peter asked optimistically, leaning over the center console.
“No.”
Over the line, the two could make out the voices of you and Loki.
“Lethal or non lethal?” Loki asked.
You hummed. “Which do you recommend?”
“Lethal,” he responded without hesitation.
“Lethal it is.”
Tony’s jaw dropped, eyes going wide.
“I don’t think you have much of a choice, Mr. Stark.” Peter smirked.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
A/N: Feel free to send in tower fic requests! I’ve been so obsessed with them again, 12 year old me would be proud
「 MCU 」 𓂃 ★ peter parker guesses the flavor of your chapstick . ★ genre / themes 𓂃 kissing ˶ fluff ˶ established rs ˶ drabble ˶ sfw .
peter is currently horizontal on your bed, which is a position he finds himself in more often than he’d like to admit these days. one of your pillows is half under his head, the other is being slowly crushed under his shoulder, and you’re sitting cross-legged beside him with that little tube of chapstick still in your hand, ensuring that the label is covered by two of your fingers.
“guess the flavour,” you’d said, like it was some big challenge and not just a flimsy excuse to get his mouth on yours.
he’s already on his third try.
he leans up, catches the back of your neck with one hand, and kisses you slow. not the polite kind of kiss. nah, he’s past that. it’s the kind where he licks across the seam of your lips first, tastes the sweetness of the flavor there, then does it again because he’s above pretending he doesn’t want to. your mouth opens under his and he takes the invitation, tongue dragging lightly over your bottom lip before he deepens it. he stays there longer than necessary, just feeling the way you melt a little more against him with each kiss.
when he finally pulls back it’s only far enough to murmur against your mouth.
“…strawberry?”
you huff a laugh. “wrong.”
he knows. he knew the second he tasted it. it’s not strawberry. but admitting that would end the game, and peter is many things but he is not a man who willingly ends a good thing early.
so he goes for it again.
this time he doesn’t even pretend to be efficient about it. he tilts your chin, licks into the corner of your mouth, traces the soft curve of your upper lip with the tip of his tongue like he’s mapping it. the chapstick is still there, faintly sweet and a little sticky, and he chases it until you’re making that quiet sound in the back of your throat that always does something stupid to his heart (dick). he kisses you properly after that, deep and unhurried, one hand sliding up into your hair just so he can keep you close a second longer.
when your lips break apart this time his voice is just a tiny rougher. kissing you doesn’t come without side effects after all.
“cherry?”
“peter.”
“what? it’s a fair guess.”
you’re smiling that soft, knowing smile that means you’ve already clocked exactly what he’s doing. he doesn’t care. he leans in for a fifth time before you can call him on it, licking over your lips again but it’s a bit slower this time, like he’s making an effort (no, he’s not). the flavour is something warm and a little tropical, maybe mango, maybe something else entirely, but the exact answer is less important than the way your breath hitches when his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip once more and his teeth dig in just a little bit, tugging as he pulls back.
when he does, it’s just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“coconut?”
you laugh under your breath, the sound warm against his mouth. “you’re so doing this on purpose.”
“nu uh. i am not,” he lies, already leaning in again with that stupid smile on his face. the one you love oh so very much. “scientific method. gotta be thorough.”
his next kiss is even less subtle. he licks into your mouth properly this time, slow and deliberate, tasting the last traces of the chapstick like it’s the only thing that matters. one of his hands finds your waist, thumb stroking idle circles over the soft fabric of your shirt. he leans you back into the bed so you’re on your back and he’s only slightly above you. his hand moves further into the back of your head, fingers only lightly gripping the hair there. he doesn’t pull away until his lungs start complaining, and even then he only goes far enough to brush another soft lick across your lower lip.
“…passionfruit?”
you’re laughing properly now, pushing lightly at his chest even as you lean into him. “it’s mango. you suck at this game.”
peter makes a thoughtful noise, like he’s considering the data. then he leans down anyway, already angling for another kiss.
“huh. weird. i think i need one more sample just to be sure.”
thought of this concept while i was applying my mango chapstick earlier LMAO
